


Could Be Worse

by Impreciselanguage



Series: July Prompts [3]
Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 19:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4361390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impreciselanguage/pseuds/Impreciselanguage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows 'Exit Plan.'<br/>Natasha meets Clint for coffee.<br/>He's late.<br/>Natasha tries to explain why they shouldn't see each other.<br/>He's too stubborn to agree.</p><p>616 Canon-Inspired. (Slight MCU influences so far as Natasha's characterization.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could Be Worse

The date hadn’t gotten off to a great start. First, Barton had been late and Natasha was certain that Fury would call before her date had even gotten underway. Second, as she was ordering a cup of coffee while she waited, the asshole in line behind her had moved up within an inch of her and opened his mouth. “Hey gorgeous, does the ca-“ Natasha grabbed two of his fingers and gave them a slight twist.  


“One more word,” she breathed, “and you will not use this hand in the same way ever again, and considering your obvious lack of skill with flirting, we all know how you make the most use of it.”  


She released the fingers as the guy stepped back, bumping into the person behind him in line who was staring at her in amazement. “Bitch!” the guy said, turning and leaving the coffee shop. The barista was grinning and gave Natasha a discount on her coffee. Not that she needed it. Whatever else good (or bad) there was to say about S.H.I.E.L.D., the pay didn’t hurt.  


When Clint did show up, it was ten minutes ‘til Fury was supposed to call, and he looked as though he’d just gotten out of bed or a fight. (Or a fight with his bed.) He grinned like a kid with a puppy, (or a puppy with a kid) and held his hand up to wave at her, and she remembered what she’d originally seen in him. That he’d be easy to manipulate had only been part of it; Clint Barton was also awfully cute.  


“Sorry Widow,” he said, making no distinction between civilian and secret identities. She’d have to work on that. “How long’ve you been waiting?”  


“Not long.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation as she sipped her black coffee.  


“Um. So what happened was, there was this gang of guys, giving this homeless guy a hard time, and I couldn’t just . . .” he trailed off and shrugged, as if intervening was something to be ashamed of.  


“I understand. Do you want me to find us a table while you get something to drink?”  


“Sure.” Clint grinned at her again, lopsidedly, then got in line. Nat made her way to a table beside the window, so she could watch the people passing by. There were six minutes remaining until Fury’s call.  


**  


Clint woke sprawled on his bed, on his stomach, still wearing his clothes from the previous day. At least he’d managed to get his shoes off? Why had he . . .? Oh right. He’d gone out with the Maximoff twins (not as sexy as it sounded. Not that either of them were bad looking, Wanda was especially . . . Actually why did people think twins were especially sexy? It was more than a little icky honestly and Clint wished he’d never even had the thought.) So he’d gone out with Wanda and Pietro, and Wanda had drunk them both under the table, if his memory was correct. She must’ve been cheating, somehow.  


What time was it? Clint scowled at the clock by his bed. Crap. Crap. Craptastic. He was supposed to be meeting Natasha for coffee. He rolled out of bed and pulled on a fresh shirt and his jeans were still ok. What he wouldn’t give for a bit of Quicksilver’s speed at the moment, but he had some experience with making himself decent in a hurry and so he was out the door in under five minutes.  


“Hey Captain Tight-Pants!?” Clint shouted, wandering into the main living room. “Mind if I borrow your motorcycle?”  


Steve Rogers wasn’t there, which was odd. He usually made the early-bird look like lie-abed, doing his calisthenics and shouting about America or civic duty or whatever he shouted about, and then by the time normal humans (or even normal mutants) had woken up, he could be found in Stark’s living room listening to the radio and sketching, or reading. “Wasting time, Clint,” Clint told himself. He’d just borrow the bike without Cap knowing.  


Except the classic Indian wasn’t there either, which made things make a little more sense. Clint ran out of the garage and hit the street running. He would have called her, except Clint hated talking to people on the phones, as he missed most of what they said. Texting would have taken too long.  


Then there were the three punks, white-boys trying to be “gangsta,” shouting names at a homeless guy who was just trying to get by. Clint stumbled to a stop in front of them and grabbed one of the boys by the back of his baggy shirt. “Hey, why don’t you pick on a guy your own size?” (Eh, it got the point across.) Then he was trading blows with three untrained teenagers, which made it more-or-less even. His training versus their ‘three-guys,’ and him without his bow. (Note to self, take bow and quiver everywhere, even on dates.) Clint was finally able to sock the ringleader in the jaw, and they decided to leave, acting like it was their idea and they were bored now. (Clint didn’t actually catch all of what they had said during the fight, but none of it had been complimentary so it wasn’t any loss.)  


“They shouldn’t bother you again, old-timer,” Clint said, turning to the homeless man. The guy just stared at him.  


“Why’d you go and have to start a fight? S’only gonna ‘cause more trouble later. Hey, y’mind givin’ a vet a twenty?”  


Some gratitude. Rescue folks in tights and a mask, it’s all hero this and Avengers that, and thank you purple arrow-guy, and offering to buy you drinks, but save somebody in jeans and a t-shirt and they ask you for money. Clint dug his last eleven bucks and handed it to the man. “Don’t spend it all in the same place,” Clint said, sounding like someone’s dad. Probably Captain America.  


So what with the sleeping late and the fight, he was over twenty minutes late for his date. Coffee date. Coffee . . . getting coffee. Natasha looked as gorgeous as ever, even dressed fairly casually, and Clint felt like a slob. While he was in line, trying to straighten out his clothes (was that blood on his shirt? Aw, man) and his hair, he missed what the barista said to him and the couple behind him got a little pissed off. Clint gave them his best ‘I am 6’3, the world’s best marksman, trained by Captain America’ stare, before turning to the barista and giving her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Got a hearing loss. Could you repeat the question?”  


“No problem,” she said. “What would you like, Sir?”  


“Coffee. I mean, just coffee. Sugar, no milk.”  


“That will be three-forty.”  


Clint went for the money wadded in his pocket. That he had given to the homeless guy. “Aw, money. Um, just a minute.” He turned a look in Nat’s direction. “Naaaat!” She stood, and her phone started to ring. She answered it, waited a moment, said something along the lines of ‘that will have to wait’ before hanging up and coming over to pay for his coffee.  


“Thanks for that.” Clint set his coffee down and set down next to her. “I promise I’ll pay you back, next time Stark sends a check.”  


Natasha shook her head. “My treat.” She took a sip of her coffee then set her cup down. “Look, Clint-”  


“This seems like something I’d better interrupt, before it gets very far. I mean, I know I’m not the kind of guy you’re used to, but you could at least give me a chance, couldn’t you? I mean, we had some good times, didn’t we? Or was that all just an act; part of the whole spy thing?”  


“We really need to work on this whole ‘discretion’ thing,” Natasha said, the corner of her mouth turning up. She sighed, touching his hand. Clint couldn’t help thinking of a mission in some tiny little country he’d never caught the name of (it might’ve been the Maximoff twin’s Transia, now he thought of it), hiding out in the ruins of a bombed-out apartment complex. The way she had kissed him – touched him then – it hadn’t seemed like an act, but he really hadn’t had much experience. Not that he was ever going to admit that.  


“Ok, yeah, you’re right.” Clint tried to drink his coffee casually, and ended up dribbling it down his chin and onto his jeans. Why’d today have to be today? “I mean, the Avengers identities are supposed to be secret but Cap’s kind’ve a legend and the Maximoffs are shouting their given names at each other every other minute . . .wait, did you say ‘we?’”  


“I was wondering when you’d pick that up,” Natasha replied. “I wasn’t going to break up with you, Clint. For one thing, there’s nothing to break up from, we aren’t in a relationship. Second, I do like you Clint. You’re a good man with a good heart, and you try to do the right thing. Which is why I’m not right for you.”  


Clint frowned. “You’re not a bad person, Natasha, no matter what you’ve done.”  


“At this point I’m not sure there’s much distinction between Natasha Romanoff and the Black Widow. Natasha might have been good for you. The Black Widow is not.”  


“It was the Widow I met.”  


“Yes,” Natasha agreed. “Yes, it was. And it was the Black Widow who used you to further her own agenda.”  


Clint frowned, not just because she was trying to pretend there had been nothing real between them, but she was making herself out to be some kind of heartless monster, which just wasn’t true. “Whatever,” he said. “Just because you used me, and okay I can’t deny that you did, doesn’t mean you aren’t good people, Nat. You joined S.H.I.E.L.D., didn’t you? You made the right choice there, so don’t give me any more crap about being a bad person.”  


Natasha smiled, wistfully. “I never said I was. I am certainly not a *nice* person, and I’m far too old for you.”  


“Aw, what’s a few years?” Clint managed to drink his coffee this time without spilling anything. “You’re what, 25? 27 tops?”  


**  


A moment passed while Natasha considered her response. Her exact age had been confidential for so long that even she wasn’t sure of it any longer. Her memory was bright spots and darkness, pieced together like patchwork. But she remembered twenty-five. The Cold War. The Winter Soldier. And Alexei. She was sure that Clint wouldn’t want to hear that she was closer in age to the grandmother he’d never known, than to him. “Let’s just say, I have a lot in common with Captain America.”  


It was a wonder Clint didn’t do a spit-take. As it was, he choked on his coffee and spent over a minute gasping and gagging. She had been right not to tell him her actual age. 

“You’re kidding?” he wheezed, as soon as he could. “No way, you aren’t . . . so were you frozen too, or?”  


“Or.” Natasha wondered if Fury would rather she keep this confidential. He’d read her file, of course. He had obtained a copy of it before she had ever joined S.H.I.E.L.D.. It was why he had approached her. It had never discussed between them, however. “The soviets were experimenting with creating a super soldier before the Nazis, but it was during the Cold War that they finally perfected it.”  


Clint was silent for a moment, which was rare for him outside of a sensitive situation. Natasha wondered why she hadn’t just pushed him away. It would be easier that way. For him, at least. He deserved someone with more in common with him. A fellow Avenger, or even one of the X-Men. With the exception of Steve Rogers, they were all closer to Clint’s age than she was. Much closer. “Huh,” Clint finally said. “That’s . . . something.”  


“So you see why we would never work out?”  


“Ok, maybe I’m just stubborn or a fool, but I don’t? So you’ve been around forever but I already knew you were a lot more experienced than me.” He turned slightly red. “I mean, with life in general. So what? I’m in love with you, Natasha, and maybe a guy shouldn’t say that on the first date but everybody knows I’ve got a big mouth so there it is.”  


Perhaps he had forgotten that he’d already told her he was in love with her, on more than one occasion. Natasha smiled, shaking her head. Apparently she wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him that easily. “You are stubborn, Clint Barton. But maybe that’s one of the things I like about you.”  


“Heh, you admitted it: you like me.”  


“I never said I didn’t.” She stood, reached over to put a hand around Clint’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, let’s go home.” Clint grinned again, in that endearing way of his, gripping her hand in his. This might not be the best decision Natasha had ever made, but at the moment, she really didn’t give a damn.

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the July prompts. This was for Day 12: Anyone but me, a war criminal. Eh.


End file.
